


All the things that he didn't understand

by meabhair



Series: You know that's how the story goes [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alec needs a drink after this, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, M/M, This was a good idea at the time, Unreliable Narrator, and very bad judgement, spies have secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meabhair/pseuds/meabhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond clenched his toes and huffed his displeasure out into the chilly air as he eyed the distance to door behind his guard speculatively. </p>
<p>“For god’s sake, James, it’s Medical, not a bloody torture chamber,” snapped Alec.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. James

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madder_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madder_rose/gifts).



> Thanks to Madder_rose, who was lovely enough to encourage the madness, beta her own gift!fic and generally be awesome
> 
> So, it's the usual A/B/O AU warning about dubious consent, knotting and biting. Enjoy?

Bond eyed his bare feet mournfully as he sat at the edge of the plastic mattress. The boots he’d started off with this morning were one of his favourite pairs, comfortable enough to prowl in but still presentable enough to wear out. To add insult to injury, they’d even taken his socks when they’d stripped him nearly of his dignity and left him in the austere room. He’d managed to keep his jeans in place through sheer bloody mindedness. Bond didn’t really need to have only his toes to look at, especially since it was clear that the smallest one on his left foot had not quite healed straight after his last mission. He clenched his toes and huffed his displeasure out into the chilly air as he eyed the distance to door behind his guard speculatively.

 

“For god’s sake, James, it’s _Medical_ , not a bloody torture chamber” snapped Alec.

 

He refused to give the other agent the satisfaction of a response, even if it meant biting on his lip to stop himself from pointing out that Alec had absconded from Medical only four weeks ago with several fractured ribs, leaving uncompleted paperwork and frustrated medics in his wake. Hypocritical bastard. Even worse, the man had seemed to develop an ability to read his mind.

 

“Cracked ribs are one thing - not much anyone can do but let them heal up. No point in doing that anywhere but in a comfortable bed at home. But, this? Reoccurring high temperature, migraines, no appetite and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. This is something different, James.”

 

“It is something different, it’s just a common cold, you mother hen. Nothing to warrant hauling me in here,” snapped Bond, a lapse which irritated him further.

 

“If it was ‘just’ a common cold, you stubborn goat, I wouldn’t have been able to haul you in here at all.”

 

Bond scowled at Alec, as frustrated with his inability to find the words to prove to the idiot how wrong he was as much as the obnoxious way the other agent was smugly leaning back against the wall. Arms crossed and leaning like he was some sort of model waiting for a passing photographer. Trevelyan didn’t have that much of a point, and if it wasn’t so bloody hot in here Bond would be able to prove it. Bond scrubbed at his hair with one hand, mentally swearing at whichever maintenance idiot had fucked up the climate controls to get them changing between icy and sweltering like a demented rollercoaster. The ache that had sparked this mess, flared deep in his side so he curled forward slightly to try make it go away.  

 

The action, instead of marginally relieving stress, made Alec straighten up from his leaning pose by the door and have the cheek to actually check Bond’s forehead with the _back of his hand_. The move was so ridiculous that Bond missed when he tried to swat Alec’s hand away. Worse, the swat nearly unbalanced him from the edge of the medical bed he’d been confined to like a naughty puppy when the medics had swarmed out.  Alec’s mouth tightened in genuine worry even as he slid out of reach.

 

“That’s it, I’m going to shake those hacks until one of them tells me what’s going on,” he snapped, “and for the sake of my sanity, James, stay here.”

 

Bond rolled his eyes at Alec’s retreating back.  Really, if the man thought he would sit here like a good little pup he didn’t know Bond at all. Though the traitor had told the medics to take Bond’s warm turtleneck jumper, tshirt, socks and boots out of the room entirely, so maybe he did have some idea. Bond kicked his feet idly and mentally reviewed the blueprints of MI6, his headache and the low grade but constant ache in his lower torso making his thoughts a bit fuzzy.

  
Like any experienced 00 during fits of uninteresting downtime, Bond had plotted several points of infiltration to headquarters in case of emergency, boredom or the event of overwhelming paperwork. Luckily, these plans could also be used to exfiltrate if needed, and as far as Bond was concerned, it was needed. No need to go far, just to where it was cool and quiet. Bond rolled his shoulders before ghosting on bare feet in the opposite direction of the shouting.  At least Alec was doing him a favour by marking his location so vocally.


	2. Alec

“Agent Bond isn’t responding to a rebound test in any way consistently, so it’s not appendicitis. His blood work is clear of most common forms of bacteria that present similar symptoms. Unfortunately, Agent Trevelyan, we will need to investigate further, so I must ask you for patience” said the most senior doctor. “It would also help if you agents would just answer questions directly instead of treating them like impromptu interrogation resistance training. And also, stop accessing each other’s private files.”

 

Alec narrowed his eyes at the man. This was one of the reasons he usually made his excuses and left Medical as soon as he was mobile, even if it meant limping like a three legged donkey. Yes, doctors were useful types to stitch one up and ensure that limbs remained attached and so on, but as soon as they faced something unusual like James Bond being laid low by some stupid, unreasonable thing, they went all aflutter. Even as the senior doctor stared right back, a flock of medics were poking over files and references like sparrows at a picnic table. 

 

“Have we access to his historical records? Maybe something inherited like periodic fever syndrome...,” asked one before hopefully adding, “have we got a recent work up to compare this to?”

 

“He’s a bloody 00. We’re lucky we’ve got a recent photo,” bit back another, presumably in what they thought was a whisper. 

 

Alec bit his cheek to try hide the smirk that remark brought. Admittedly, he and his fellow 00 agents had a reputation for dodging paperwork and check ups alike. As far as field agents were concerned, all they and anyone else needed to know was that they were fit for duty.  Anything further just increased the risk of a medical type pulling them from service which was not to be risked. 

 

“I’ve seen the man shake off torture, walk away from falling off a building, and brush off wrestling with a bloody alligator.  On one mission, it was all of those and none of those things, not one, set him back as bad as he’s been. This thing keeps happening! And it’s getting worse, so no, Doctor, I will not have patience.” 

 

The snarky young doctor, and when did they all get so young, wondered Alec, snapped up her head like a wolf scenting blood. She started to pull out the older files, still paperwork due to the Q before last’s insistence that was safer. Probably, Alec thought, the old bastard just didn’t want his budget allocated to updating their records into a secure format instead of coming up with his increasingly ambitious science projects.

 

Alec sucked in a deep breath to start shouting again when the lights dimmed and the emergency light flared red and a grating alarm sounded,nearly masking the sound of the locks engaging in the main Medical entryways. 

 

“For fucks sake!” Alec felt like smashing his head against a wall. Of all times for MI6 to go into lockdown. He just hoped that it was only one of M’s random emergency drills rather than an actual incursion, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be that lucky. 

 

“Well, Agent Trevelyan, we will have to come back to this after the drill. We can try lightly sedate Agent Bond for the moment to make him more comfortable. If you can stay with him, it may keep him calm.”

 

And you out from underfoot may not have been said, but it was thought loud enough to make it crystal clear. The rest of the medical staff were already moving to their appointed positions and checkpoints, handing out equipment and confirming their presence to the designated team leads. It looked like a well oiled machine had rumbled to life. 

 

“Uh. Doctor Evans?” the optimistic baby doctor from earlier was looking like he’d swallowed a fish, “Um. Agent Bond seems to have… The examination room’s empty.”

 

“For fucks sake, James, you stubborn goat.”

 

Alec gave up any attempt at professionalism and stalked over to the table where James’ boots and clothes were sitting to double check the slick bastard hadn’t swanned in and taken them during the shouting. Really, he couldn’t believe that berk had decided to abscond in nothing but a pair of jeans. And all he’d wanted was a weekend to crash at James’ apartment and do nothing but empty a few bottles of good whiskey while his ribs finished repairing, maybe have James’ not well hidden pampering streak show up with some home cooked meals. Bond was going to owe him mightily for this, or at least he would once they’d figured out what was pickling his brain. 

 

“What?” he snarled at the snarky doctor.

 

“Agent, you’re one of Agent Bond’s friends, right?” and he had to hand it to her, she didn’t run away from his scowl, and even continued at his nod, “It’s just that, I can’t see any notation on his file. But, is there any chance that he’s an omega? It’s just that if he had recently come off suppressants, it would be consistent with…”

 

Alec froze as she continued, the rest of her words washing over him like rolling mist, as she asked then bickered with several of her colleagues who were highly sceptical of her idea. But, my god, that would explain a lot. 

 

“Fuck sake, James, I’m going to strangle you.”

 

Once he found him. Before James really hit heat, before an alpha with more hormones and optimism then training thought it would be a good idea to mount a heat-addled 00. 

  
Alec snagged the bundle of James’ belongings and stalked away from Medical, leaving the department’s well oiled machine with a major spanner in the works. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this instead of studying for an exam tomorrow morning - hope you enjoyed the fruits of my procrastination.


	3. Q

Q sighed and looked mournfully down at the partially dismantled radio on his workbench. The wiring and usually sleek innards were splayed out in a parody of an autopsy. He was already behind due to the head cold he’d been fighting on and off for the last week. Really, Q was convinced that the menthol smell of Vicks Vaporub was sunk so far into his pores as to be permanent. The wailing alarms were also doing nothing for his poor head. Honestly, he was going to quarantine his staff who had children returning to school for two weeks in early autumn. Every year along with increasing traffic, someone would bring in the sniffles from their precious germ factories, and then everyone would have a dose. 

 

Still, frustrating as it was, Q stood up and wiped his hands off on his thighs. Given that he was still being judged as a child playing in an adult league, he did feel under pressure to ensure his division performed not just up to standard but to exceed in it. Since Silva’s taunting, Q knew that he’d be under close review. Too many of the old relics still had influence and combined with a lack of understanding that understated did not mean ineffectual, it did not bode well. 

 

As he left the small workshop he’d commandeered, Q made sure to manually lock the doors. His fingers were slightly numb as the basement was usually kept at a lower temperature to the rest of MI6 due to the computers and random potential explosive material. His footsteps echoed slightly, bouncing further on the heavy wooden stonework.  It felt very quiet despite the alert lights and sirens, and belatedly Q looked at his watch. 4:40pm on a Friday before a bank holiday, which meant that most of his section with any sense would have left to try enjoy the last of the autumn sun.  Q mournfully rubbed more Vicks on his chest as he contemplated how long this drill would last. 

 

The absence of sirens in the immediate area was as shocking as a slap, startling Q still. He could faintly hear the other sections sirens sounding, and lower a small grumbling sound. Caught between trepidation and curiosity, Q was torn. He had no means of defence, he needed to make sure his people were in their designated areas, he needed to report the fault in the degradation of the warning area, but there was something drawing him forward. He moved to the last door, where a large bank of equipment was stored, and peeked around. Most of the banks of equipment stood untouched.  Only one panel, the one that was connected to the local alarms ,was pulled open and mangled. By the far wall, with as much of his bare back pressed against the stone wall as he could manage was a rather grumpy looking 00 agent. Instead of any pithy comments about agents and their propensity for destruction in any opportunity, Q could only think of one thing. 

  
Good Lord, James Bond owns a pair of jeans. 


	4. James

Bond didn’t like the noise, thick, annoying and throbbing through his head. It was so bad that he seriously considered just knocking himself out on the hard stone walls to get away from it. Only the sluggish realisation that concussion would give more ringing in his ears instead of less stopped him. It was so, so hot and weren't the workshops and lower decks supposed to be colder because of water?  Except, he wasn’t on a ship, he was in the bowels of MI6. And, realisation dawned, that meant that he could shut that ungodly racket off. It was probably lucky he had explored the refurbished headquarters during one of the irritating yet mandatory down times that M kept inflicting on them.  M was _mean_ like that. Bond kept an eye on his toes, but they lead him straight to the right panel, even the crooked one, so that was back to being an acceptable toe. A nudge, a tweak and a solid punch and the noise was gone.

  
That was good.

 

Better, Bond found a wall. A nice, chilled wall that eased the cramps in his lower back and cooled him down. It was easy, so easy just to slide down, knees bent, all toes - even the crooked one - spread flat on the floor and then to push back into the lovely wall. A sigh of contentment lifted it’s way out of his belly and Bond let it loose into the air. Really, why hadn’t Alec just brought him here in the first place? Silly man and his obsession with goats. Or medics. Maybe it was medical goats the man had been grumbling about earlier.

 

Even the small sounds of someone approaching in a very bad attempt at a sneak couldn’t dent Bond’s feeling of relaxation. He could move and deal with the threat any time he wanted. He could, any time now.

 

Any.

 

Time.

 

Now.

 

Luckily, he didn’t need to, because Bond recognised that mop of a hair-do.  Or, was that a hair-don't?  Bond didn't know, were there rules one must adhere to when looking like a bird's nest? But, Q out of Q branch, unusual, but in fairness, they had their first professional meeting in front of a painting.  Bond contemplated this, wondering if all meetings with Q should be out of the branch. He’d prefer shoes, though, even if he was getting attached to his poor crooked toe.  But, maybe shoes were not good for crookedness? He’d have to think about that. Q had shoes, and Q was kneeling down beside him.

 

“007. What’s going on? Has M changed the script on this drill?”

 

That was a good question. And Bond would think about that, too. And maybe squint at Q a little, because there was something important he just couldn’t put his finger on right now.  It would be with him in a second, it was at the tip of his tongue. Bond frowned and shook his head slowly, putting his finger to his lip.

 

“Can’t tell you,” he rasped at Q, “not right now. Carry on.”

 

Q looked baffled, which amused Bond, because a baffled Q was rather cute on balance and not too common an occurrence. It was natural to reach out and clap one hand over Q’s shoulder and push. Lightly, because Bond didn’t want to hurt the man, just put him off balance.  Maybe teach him that kneeling beside a 00 was possibly not the best idea. The baffled expression flowed into a scowl, which also meant that it was a perfect time for a smirk.  So Bond smirked, hard.

 

“Fine, 007, if that’s the way it’s to be, don’t let me disturb your extra game of capture the flag. Though I rather wish that M would let us know if he’s going to have additional extras to a drill.”

  
Q was picking himself up with more grace than Bond would have credited him with, which was nice to watch. Even the way he fussed and flattened his soft cords over his thighs was interesting. Runner’s thighs, maybe, something with more muscle than was obvious. Bond gave a wink and a finger waggle, which caused Q to snort and stalk off to his minions.  Now, all Bond needed to do was figure out whatever it was that he had at the tip of his tongue and everything would be ok.  Maybe this day would improve.


	5. Q

The echoes from his stomping feet didn’t serve to soothe Q in any way. It was just so frustrating, with the tests within tests that MI6 seemed to take delight in.  If one scenario could give rise to two or more opportunities, M was on it like a student on free pizza. The current thinking, from what Q could understand, was that they should be treating each drill as a completely new learning exercise. Yes, some elements stayed the same, the most awkward was the ‘air lock’ system that split MI6 into several independent segments to prevent an incursion on one overwhelming them all. No matter what else was being run, Q branch had to stand by to make sure that no override on all doors was used. Q grimaced, the memory of ‘secure’ doors opening in front of his eyes. 

 

As he entered his domain, Q was quite happy to see that his people were focused and working well together. He caught R’s eye and nodded towards a desk to indicate where he’d be based. One of the things that he’d tried to bring in was flexibility with work stations, to try encourage his people to be comfortable if they were uprooted.  Again.  Q perched at the chair and R flagged the list of present personnel, current feed back from the roving squad that were saving them from whatever the current scenario dictated and a status update. 

 

“Hopefully, it’s going to be an easy run R, but I’ve seen a 00 on the loose downstairs.  And we all know how well they do smooth, so keep eyes and ears peeled, yes?”

 

R waved acknowledgement, her smooth voice running updates and keeping her own minions moving. Q smiled, she was a pleasure to watch when she was in the zone like this. Mostly, his role in these drills was to make sure that everyone else fulfilled theirs.  To be honest, Q would be much happier tinkering with his current radio miniaturization project.  At least his people were happy to take on this sort of thing as a challenge, Q had heard enough ranting from other department senior staff to know that most of MI6 were kicking the traces when it came to the drills. 

 

Maybe he was speaking too soon, though.

 

“Was there something, T? No?” snapped Q, “Well, get back to your station, thank you. Grant’s people usually tumble across something they shouldn’t at least once.”

 

The tech that Q was giving the evil eye seemed to be puffing his chest out as if he was going to start some sort of alpha male dominance battle. Q stared him down until he slumped and moved away. While he wasn’t as intimidating as the 00s, or even the general pool of field agents, Q was still the man’s boss. Also, he was feeling just miserable enough not to want to waste time or energy with dominance battles. It was bad enough that he had to deal with them with the prat from Accounts in every senior staff meeting.  The man was a chauvinistic and pompous excuse of an alpha who always tried to overwhelm other designations as if he was god’s gift.  Q was never sure if he had just inherited the enmity, or if his lack of flaunting his own designation irritated the man. 

 

Q focused back on his computer, double checking to see that M hadn’t done something really irritating like asking for a simulation of the loss of half the servers. The weight of eyes on him made him look up. U was offering a cup of tea and doe eyes. Q blinked up, because that did not compute. U was one of the few staff that he rarely interacted with.  He thanked U politely and waved her back to her desk, before noticing two other techs were nearly to him with their own offerings of hot beverages. Odd. Q snuffled and dismissed the antics as long weekend anticipation before losing himself in monitoring. 


	6. Alec

Bond owed him.

 

Alec felt that this day was going to justify cracking open that ’66 Benriach Glenlivet that James had squirrelled away somewhere. Alec focused on the thought of the drink, the colour it would be in the glass, the scent before the first warming sip went to roll down his throat. The other option was to focus on the fact that he was being brought to the Admin section head by a tiny slip of nothing who maybe hit five foot if she stood on a telephone directory. Admittedly, Alec had done plenty of marginally embarrassing things for Queen and country, and undiscussable amounts of mortifying things for James but being escorted through the open office by a waif in pigtails might just top the list.

 

Worse, she seemed to be able to identify sore spots on his poor ribs as if he was marked with the little arrow post-it notes that decorated every blizzard of paperwork on all the desks in sight. The woman was obviously missing her calling, she was wasted as an accountant.  

 

“And, Agent Trevelyan, the fifth inconsistency in your latest mission expenses report was fairly minor but it comes up so often. Perhaps I can have Trevor send you an updated Power Point?” said the waif in the politest tones,  “I do appreciate it can be hard to fill out all the different forms, but we’d really find it so helpful. Oh, here we are. Sir!”

 

The department manager looked flustered, frustrated and altogether as if he was having a better day than Alec was. Still, Alec pulled on his best ‘placate the civilian’ smile in order to try make this exercise in being corralled worth it in information gathering. Even the scowl he was getting in return was giving him some information, surely only James’ presence would cause that sort of filthy look.

 

“Sophie, can you please make sure the secure files are flagged for IT?  Thank you.  Agent, I don’t think you’re here in response to the last dozen emails about your expenses? No? So, as you’ve no reason for being here and the department is fully in compliance with our service level agreements on the drill, I’d thank you to make a note in your files for M and stay to the sidelines.”

 

Maybe it wasn’t only James’ presence. Nice to know that his presence also brought about a face like a slapped arse.

 

“I’m not here for M. I’m looking for Agent Bond, I believe he’s going into heat and he’ll need medical intervention as soon as possible.”

 

The senior bean counter looked at Alec.

 

Alec looked at the bean counter.

 

“I was under the impression that the scenarios for the drill were supposed to be plausible, Agent Trevelyan. But, very well. No, we have not seen Agent Bond.”

 

Alec walked away from the pompous twerp, ignoring demands to complete the review, to sign into the system to verify that Accountancy were reaching the target, to pay attention, please and thank you. If James was in heat, and Alec really thought this was going to happen, the scent would be as plain as day and several deep breaths cleared the area. The waif again showed much more situational awareness than her supervisor as she used her powers of sheep herding to move the rest of the staff out of his way.  Two departments down, only a half dozen more to check.  Or more practically, only a half dozen more security points to overcome without getting shot, tazered, netted or captured by children.

 

For fuck sake, Bond, why do you always do this to me?


	7. Q

Q swatted at the third of his minions who had felt the need to subtly crowd close to him and sniff. Honestly, he did shower. Quite often in fact, especially when he was trying to remove the clinging smell of menthol. The minion scuttled away, looking startled. Pointing at the neglected bank of consoles and keyboard, Q hoped his orders were clear. Again. 

 

“If you’d just give them a hint, they’d back off.”

 

It was only long practice of dealing with Bond materialising out of nowhere that stopped Q jumping fully out of his seat at the words breathed in his ear.  Sadly, it didn’t stop the slight flailing and loss of dignity. Trevelyan blinked down at him, as if he had no idea why Q would be startled by someone creeping up behind him and making cryptic comments in his ear. 

 

“006, what are you talking about? Hint of what?” 

 

Q didn’t really care for the answer, at least with a 00 agent at his desk he’d get a bit of peace from the horde of slightly deranged techs. He had barely been able to get a tap of work done, what with half of his minions trying to subtly leave tea, bobble filter water bottles, chocolates and assorted nibbles on his desk without him noticing. The other half seemed to be intent on getting underfoot, passively aggressively being prats that suddenly needed monitoring like school children.  Q was fit to start pulling his hair out. 

 

“If you have a preference.  Maybe it’s something in the water,” mused Trevelyan, right before he swooped in to sniff at the back of Q’s neck, “I mean, you hear about people’s cycles syncing…” 

 

Q whirled in his seat and swatted the irritating agent with the nearest file he had to hand. Happily, it was a thick preliminary report and gave a satisfying thwack on contact.  Sadly, Trevelyan just pulled a disgruntled face, rubbed pointedly at his shoulder, but didn’t seem to be dissuaded from hovering like an unwanted odour. 

 

“What is that smell? Menthol? Is that to cover your scent?” 

 

Q rolled his eyes at Trevelyan. 

 

“No, 006. It’s to help me breathe. I’ve got the tag-end of a cold, a headache, a department full of distracted minions, M has a list of requests on top of this drill, and bothersome 00 agents turning up where they shouldn't be, so if Vicks helps me through this I have no problems using it.”

 

Trevelyan displayed the typical 00 agent’s respect for personal boundaries and leaned close before trailing a fingertip along Q’s collarbone and scooping a little of the oily cream away. 

 

“Just so we’re clear,” he asked, “You’re not going into heat?”

 

Q really felt he deserved a medal for not using his forehead to squash his keyboard.

 

“No, Agent Trevelyan, I am not going into heat.  And, as I am not an omega, I am unlikely to do so. Now, would you like me to sign you up for another sexual harassment in the workplace seminar now, or will I wait till Monday and throw in a bonus recommendation for sensitivity training?”

 

Q would have been happy with the threat, if not for the fact that Trevelyan had a look on his face that was very similar to the one that tended to be reflected on shiny surfaces right before he blew them up.  The man was rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in an oddly thoughtful manner. While Q was no field agent, he did have some survival instincts and they were beginning to scream at him through the dispersing remains of his cold. 

  
  


“Double 00’s where they shouldn’t be.” Trevelyan looked intent as he asked, “And you didn’t mean me, did you Quartermaster?”

 

Q knew there was a trick in this question but for the life of him, he couldn’t see it.

  
“No, as a matter of fact. 007 was downstairs. Are you supposed to be working with him, or are the two of you working at odds?”

 

Trevelyan looked as though he’d swallowed a fish for a moment. 

 

“Not that you’d guess, but with him.  Did you talk to him, or just see him on monitors?”

 

“I talked to him, but he was more obscure than usual. I don’t think anything he says can ever be taken at face value. He even tipped me over!”

 

Wait, Q hadn’t meant to tell Trevelyan that, it made him sound like a sulky child. However, instead of mocking him, the agent looked pleasantly surprised. 

 

“Well. That’s interesting. You need to tell me more.  Come on, hop to it.”

 

Trevelyan was suiting action to words, nabbing some of the more portable edible offerings on Q’s desk and stuffing them into a light cotton tote bag.  Q didn’t have time to wonder where the bag had come from when 006 was beginning to wheel his chair towards the main exit. Who knew what it said for Q’s life but none of his minions looked even remotely surprised as they continued their work at their desks. 

 

“006, what are you thinking?” Q would deny the squeak till his dying day, “What’s going on? I can’t leave the office without notification. Help!” 

 

“Well. Just testing a theory. You’re a scientist, you like testing things out, yes?”

 

“No! Yes, wait, this is kidnapping, not science!”

 

“Trust me,” said 006, “You’ll probably like the branch of science I’ve got in mind.”

  
Q gave up on the inevitable as he was wheeled out, trailing his dignity in shreds behind him. 


	8. James

The room provided interesting acoustics, as Bond proved by humming atonally to himself. The wall had become uncomfortable so he’d moved to the floor and was doing a fairly good impression of a starfish. He lazily swept his arms back and forward against the floor. It wasn’t really that nice any more, beginning to warm against his body heat. Bond frowned up at the ceiling. He rolled over to his belly, propping his chin on his crossed arms and flexed his spine.  A patch of fresh flooring cooled his belly, but he really didn’t like the vulnerability it left him with. Anyone could creep up behind him, anyone could pin him down. No, sadly he would need to move out of this room and look for something more suitable.

 

Suitable for what, could be determined later. 

 

Rolling to his feet, Bond moved away from his little nook and prowled away.  The airflow was still being maintained, a current of air moving through the building. A distant part of Bond noted that everything seemed to be going well with this drill, that the lockdown had minimised foot traffic but maintained systems in the building. The current also brought a hint of something alluring, of deep musky tones blended with fresh citrus and bergamot. Identifying that also made Bond thirsty and he was surprised to find himself by a back stairs. His crooked toe was obviously leading him somewhere, so Bond continued on, amusing himself by bypassing the stairs and using the railings to swing himself upwards.

 

It was only when he’d reached the next floor he remembered what the drill meant. Stupid locked doors. Very irritating. He caressed the lock with his left hand, absently patting his pockets with his right to try find his lock picks and over ride kit. Unfortunately, Alec had ‘borrowed’ them on his way into Medical along with boots and t-shirts. Bond scowled at the door, tugging at his jeans to try get them to sit more comfortably on his hips. The soft, broken in denim was usually his go to comfort clothes but they felt restrictive.

 

Bond leaned his forehead against the door. It took a few minutes of communing with the cool surface before he was struck by inspiration. Waving slightly as he ambled back to his earlier nest he collected some of the debris to help his plan before returning.  He set to dismantling the hinges, humming badly to see if the sound would echo in the stairwell better than it had in the sub basement. Before too long, he was through the door and into the part of the basement that Q branch kept their vital resources - caffeine, rich tea biscuits, random issues of Wired, dog eared copies of treasured books, defended personal mugs.  He stumbled into the nook that Q and some of the higher level techs favoured, the one where HR had bowed against inevitability in and installed a futon in defiance of all working hours legalities. 

 

The nook itself was one of those odd spaces that old buildings with new internal layouts end up with. Bond could block the door with his shoulders, the ceiling was low but solid.  There was enough room to swing a cat in, as Kincaid would have said, but only just.  A few stamps from his foot, even being careful of crooked toe, showed him that was also solid.  A rarity, no glass walls. There was a coffee machine in the corner, marked with a note threatening whoever was foolish enough to forget to grind the beans. A notice board with a worn laminated card declaring itself for professional purposes only was covered in dog eared postcards, suggestions for an interoffice bake off, someone trying to home kittens. 

 

Nodding, Bond reached up to remove the bulb from the overhead light fixture.  Yes, he could work with this.  Hauling some chairs around took only minutes, but meant he had a rough fence around the entrance.  Perfect for slowing down anyone trying to approach and giving him a chance to move.

  
Satisfied with the basic changes, Bond curled up on the futon.  The citrus infused scent was strong, very strong, and he snuffled around until he came upon a roughly folded blanket which had the strongest scent yet.  With one arm, Bond shook it out, flapping it gracelessly to flare over him.  It was fluffy, a bit worn, off white and the most twee thing he’d seen in years. Nonetheless, it was perfect. For the first time in days, Bond could sleep comfortably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> The next chapter is giving me problems despite Madder's awesome prompting, but should be up soon. Until then, hope you have a lovely end of 2015 and a fabulous start to 2016


	9. Q

Q began to loosen his death grip on the chair.  There was something oddly soothing about being pushed around headquarters by a 00 agent on a wheeled office chair.  If nothing else, it was kind of epic to watch people hop out of their way.  

 

“Trevelyan, what exactly are you planning on doing here?” 

 

“Finding the closest shower. And, maybe avoiding this patrol.”

 

Q decided that it was probably in his sanity’s best interests not to push any further as Trevelyan pushed the chair to a locked door, watched with professional interest as the agent picked the lock in seconds before wheeling him into the dark meeting room. The door was relocked before a steady beat of heavy boots ran past. Q watched the door, waiting for it to be checked, the room cleared and for them to be discovered and the chance to get back to his desk. He sat in the darkness that was only broken by small green emergency lights and watched Agent Trevelyan and Agent Trevelyan watched him right back. The lights were only enough to cast an uncomfortable otherworldly atmosphere in the small room. 

 

Rather uncomfortable experience, on balance.

 

The sound of boots faded back down the corridor, with a distinct lack of checking the locked doors.  A small and possibly vindictive part of Q noted that he’d have something to throw back at Grant during the next senior staff meeting.  The man usually had a list of other departments shortcomings to whine about, it would be nice to bring some of his own.  Silence reigned as Agent Trevelyan listened carefully at the door.  Q was willing to permit it for a while, but not too long. 

 

“Well. That was exciting.  It’s the first time I’ve been kidnapped, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

 

Agent Trevelyan slowly reached out and flipped the light switch.  Q squinted in the harsh light, blinking to try focus on the blank faced agent.  

 

“You think I’m kidnapping you?”

 

“Well, given the uncomfortable discussion at my desk, from which I was forcibly removed from by someone with enough training to break me in two with his little finger, that my staff didn’t feel able to say anything without repercussion, the thought had indeed crossed my mind.”

 

Silence descended again somehow even more awkward as they stared at each other a little more. 

 

Eventually, Agent Trevelyan ran a hand over his face, sighed and pulled a chair out from behind the table and slumped down on it. He leant forwards, leaning elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together in front of him. 

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, “It’s just important.”

 

Q stared, he wasn’t sure he’d heard any of the 00 agents genuinely apologise in his time with MI6.

 

“What?” 

 

The question was out, raw in the tension building between them.  Part of Q wanted to snatch it back, to replace it with something polished and useful, suitable for a professional. The rest of him was happy with the bluntness. 

 

“Because you walked away from James earlier today.”

 

_ “What?” _

 

“You had to have met him, to still carry his scent, and then gone to your desk.  If you’d pushed, James probably have put you… out of commission for a while. But you walked away from him.  And you take care of us, all the agents, you put the best equipment you can in our hands. I’ve never seen you Alpha anyone into submission.”

 

Q blinked.  Only half of the babble made anything close to sense, and of that it was mostly the description of his day job that was accurate and as for the last, well.  Q had opinions about people who tried to use their designation to get their way. 

 

“So,” continued Trevelyan, “I needed you to come with me to see if I was right.” 

 

“And you couldn’t have just asked?” 

 

Agent Trevelyan, 006, graduate of the SAS, survivor of countless battles and holy terror of the Accounting department looked guilty.  Unlacing his fingers, he scrubbed at the back of his neck and peered up at Q from below his eyelashes.  Q was fairly sure that looking like a scolded schoolboy while sort of apologising for kidnap was illegal. 

 

“I should have done that, shouldn’t I?” The agent actually sounded apologetic as he continued, “And that was one of the things I wanted to avoid for James. Fuck.”

 

The agent’s baffling remarks were sparking something in Q’s brain. It still didn’t make sense though. It rather sounded like Trevelyan thought that Bond was in danger, in particular from Q, or someone like Q.  While he was admittedly a danger through all things digital, he had to admit that physically he wasn’t very imposing in comparison to the agents. The only real threat he could be was to an omega in heat.

 

And Trevelyan was bringing him to Bond after specifically telling him that… Oh. Really? Mentally reviewing everything that they’d talked about, or not talked about, at his desk - the questions, the typical oblique suggestions most of the 00’s delighted in.  It sounded awfully like Trevelyan thought that Bond was an omega, and tangentially he wanted Q to take a shower, which would make no sense… if Q wasn’t nearly polluting the air around himself with a strong menthol scent.  Q blinked owlishly at 006.

 

“Agent Trevelyan, were you seriously intending to deliver me - _ on my office wheely chair  _ \- like a parcel to Agent Bond as if you were some sort of sex trafficking mailman?” Q could feel his voice raise as he flailed at the agent in front of him, “Did you stop and think for a moment, that I do not want to be delivered and for god’s sake, seeing as the whole of MI6 knows 007’s opinions on settling down - do you think he’d accept delivery if he was in his right mind?  If he is in heat, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t actually said that, I don’t know which is worse, that you’d put him in a position that someone could take advantage of him or that you expect me to be the one to do it!”

 

To be honest, Q wasn’t sure when he had come out of his chair during his rant but somehow he was standing over 006 and waving his finger under the man’s nose.  Obviously, the Vicks had burnt away his sense of self preservation along with his functioning sense of smell.  Agent Trevelyan’s face was professionally blank but his eyes were intense.  Deciding that alpha pride was not enough to die for, Q shuffled backwards, well aware that he was still within a danger zone.

 

Agent Trevelyan sighed heavily. 

 

“I may not have fully thought through the consequences of my actions,” and Q couldn’t help snorting at that but the man continued onwards, “but, yes, I do think that James is going into heat.  I’ve known him for nearly twenty years and he’s never once gone into heat.  That’s not good. Even I know suppressing that long is bloody dangerous, but the stupid goat did and now we’ve got to look after him.  I don’t believe you’d take advantage of him, or any of us. I just think that you’d be good for him, take care of him through this like one of our missions. He hasn’t really had much gentle in his life.”

 

And Q could have nearly argued everything but that. Agent Trevelyan was gazing at him with eyes that betrayed the worry for his friend, desperation badly hidden. As much as Q knew he was being emotionally manipulated, he couldn’t walk away from one of his agents who asked him for help or one of his agents who was incapable of asking for help.  Scrubbing his face, Q slumped back into his wheely chair.  He took the opportunity to think his options through. It was ridiculous, he should send the agent on his merry way, alert medical and go back to his department. 

 

“Fine. I’ll have a shower.  We’ll find Agent Bond.  If he just has this cold, we’ll haul him back to Medical and I won’t make your life a living hell. And in return, you’ll stay out of my department any time these drills are on.  Perhaps, you could keep an eye on Grant’s team.”

  
That was not what Q was planning to say, but somehow, in the face of Agent Trevelyan’s boyish grin he couldn’t regret it.  Q stood as the agent went to unlock the door and wondered what the next few hours of this day would bring as they made their way back into the corridors of MI6. 


	10. Eve

Eve took the slim file and glided away from her desk, the rich carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps and cushioning the impact of high heels.  She’d be thankful, if the balls of her feet weren’t screaming blue murder at her. She tapped lightly on M’s door, waiting the half beat to hear M’s inattentive acknowledgement before entering. Tanner politely nodded to her, even as he continued on with the briefing at hand. M glanced in her direction and held his hand out for the file.

 

“That’s the last outstanding from Project Dove, Accounts are looking for another in-house meeting for field agents and the proposed agenda for the next Club de Berne meeting.”

 

“Quite so. Tanner, can you arrange for the updates please?” M barely glanced at the files he had been so anxious to be available not twenty minutes ago, chin dipping in both acknowledgement and dismissal before continuing on with his conversation with Tanner. 

 

Eve could understand M’s drive to put his own stamp on the office, especially after the bloody handover. The last M had held her position in an iron fist and it had moulded itself around her like a silk glove.  Even still, her footsteps sometimes echoed in the halls.  Mallory was aware that he was stepping into big shoes and still struggling to find a place in them without letting anyone know he was on a learning curve. 

 

M, for all she treated her people as tools for the job, had never forgotten that they were people. She had known that they laughed, cried, woke up with screaming terrors, went on dates and tried their best to have lives. M had just expected them to be willing to do the unthinkable if needed. Right now, Mallory hadn’t quite got the balance of treating his staff as tools when in the field and people when they were home office. 

 

Eve gritted her teeth and swept out of the office with an icily polite return nod.  At least Tanner had the decency to throw her an apologetic look.  Shutting the door to the internal office, Eve hissed her displeasure out in a brief moment of visible discontent. Making the decision to step out of the field and into a senior analyst's role had been right for her, Eve knew she was as much of an asset in this position as in the field.  It didn’t stop some of Mallory’s ingrained assumptions about her duties and his frequent habit of falling into treating her as a secretary.  Definitely, her subtle campaign to remind him of her actual role and abilities was too subtle and would need to be stepped up. 

 

The mobile on her desk chimed as she sat down and she really felt like running screaming for the hills.  If she wasn’t mistaken, that was a text from Connor to remind her that they were to meet with Brian tomorrow night.  Right now, she couldn’t listen to his messages, couldn’t step up as an alpha.  She needed to get this office running smoothly for the next few hours and then she could try to pull her personal life together. 

 

Thankfully, one of Q’s alerts flags along the bar of her computer pulling her thoughts out of home and back to the office.  Idly, she pulled relevant window open, not paying too much attention until she realised it was an automatic notification that would alert if Q didn’t enter his code every thirty minutes.  Silva had left many legacies, paranoia being the least of them.  Even during the worst of his cold, when his presence was heralded by the strong menthol scented cloud of Vicks VapoRub, Q had logged in religiously.  

 

Eve pulled the CCTV footage of Q-branch, watching as his techs went about their business with every indication that all was well despite the lack of their department head. She frowned, in every scenario that Mallory had run to date, Q had been front and centre, the insistence on control one of the few ways that his alpha nature showed out. Neither Eve nor Mallory had dared cross into the alpha’s clearly defined territory, and his control seemed to hold despite the lack of his presence. 

 

The anomaly was enough to bother her.  Eve tapped her lip with her phone before she hid it in her desk drawer.  She ran a quick review of the entry logs for the day and the last locations of several individuals that her gut told her may have something to do with this oddness. It flagged another anomaly: 00 agents voluntarily checking into Medical.  In particular, Trevelyan and Bond. They were walking disasters, ones that never interacted with medics for a second more than they had to.  Fingers flying over the keyboard, she used tricks Q had shown her and she pulled up more files - partially filled out intake forms.  Scanning the forms she quickly noted some strategic blank spots.

 

Damn Bond and his creative approach to paperwork. 

 

Eve steepled her fingers. She thought about the files, and matched them to what she knew about the three men. Then she reviewed what she assumed about the men. Eve realised that there was a possibility that this intel could be… useful.  It would also need to be verified, so she started to look for evidence. It didn’t take long and soon, she was watching as Alec Trevelyan and Q covertly made their way down a corridor.  Nothing for it, so Eve flagged a message to Grant’s team, nudging them towards one of Mallory’s objectives that would keep them out of Trevelyan’s path.  Now, if she was right, the two would be making a turn into the training rooms and more importantly their showers. 

 

She was right - Trevelyan was waiving Q towards the showers and out of sight of the cameras. 

 

Eve toed her shoes off, pulled out an empty wine bottle, placed it on the floor and she absently rolled it back and forth with her foot.  As her muscles relaxed, Eve began to weigh up the potential outcomes.  She smiled and pulled up personnel records.  For once, Bond’s penchant for causing ructions would work in her favour as nobody really expected him to complete his paperwork. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, right about now, Alec is making sure that Q washes behind his ears. Q is offended, as he has been washing successfully for several decades now and is aggressively using unscented bodywash as if that was to blame. Eve is glad that there is no CCTV in the changing room (that she's aware of) so she won't be distracted as she does some Very Important Work.
> 
> So, there's no point to this end note except to make you think of a wet, naked Q. Next chapter should be up shortly!


	11. Q

Damp hair curled around his ears as Q followed Agent Trevelyan through the bowels of MI6.  The big beta moved silently and with the grace of a panther.  Q did not. Adolescence had not been kind to Q, he’d been the kind of gangly child that had never really had an evolution from duckling to swan. Instead he’d careened through his teens with knobbly knees and awkward elbows.  It had only been in his early twenties that he’d really settled into his body, learning to judge the spacial relations between himself and the rest of the world and save everyone from embarrassment and injury.  

 

However, this lovely skill had apparently absconded with the remnants of his self preservation overridden by a delicious scent that perfumed the air. It was perfect, warming and slowly blunting the edges of his thoughts like an evening spent sipping fine whiskey.  How he had managed to miss the delightful suggestion, even with his nose overwhelmed with Vicks, Q did not know. It was the last time he’d buy the stinky stuff.  Instead of harsh menthol, he was nearly tasting the salted smoked oak touched with cordite of the scent that was luring him in. The speedy shower he’d had seemed to have also washed away most of his inhibitions and a good chunk of his brain power. 

 

Any concerns that he’d had in his office or the little meeting room were muffled and all Q could focus on was getting to one of his agents who may be in distress.  Despite knowing exactly how bad an idea approaching a 00 recklessly, let alone and injured or sick one, Q could not slow down.  Until Agent Trevelyan decided to assist by grabbing the back of his jumper.  Well. It had been a while since any of the agents had compared him to a puppy, he’d been getting nostalgic for it. Really. 

 

“If you don’t brain yourself on the stairs, James will if you run down there like a monk to a brewery. Slow down!”

 

Q had a comeback ready, sharp and ready and lined up right behind his teeth. Instead, what came out of his mouth was a low snarl. Trevelyan snickered, before shaking Q slightly. 

 

“CCTV of this is going to be worth it’s weight in gold. In small words - Slow down. Don’t startle him. For fucks sake, don’t restrict him. And if you need to, back off. He won’t attack if you show throat. Probably.” 

 

Q nodded, attention drifting away from the burly beta who was holding him. No need to struggle with the man, he was covered with the lovely scent, he was family but he wasn’t the source of the smell.  Shifting his weight meant he could lean closer, take a deep breath and relax into the suggestion of gun oil, leather and warm skin on the air. Agent Trevelyan’s sigh was not even an annoyance, just something to be registered, logged and dismissed.

 

“This is going to end in tears. Then I’m taking all the whisky and that’ll be that,” said Agent Trevelyan before releasing Q.

 

Free, Q scrambled to get around the chairs that were scattered all around the open plan staff room that the Q branch favoured. The doorway to small room that the senior techs claimed as their own and made do as Q’s second sleeping space during emergencies stood empty.  This was not right. Much neglected instincts caused Q to pause by the doorway.  Peering round the corner into the darkened room, he could see that most of the chairs had been cleared out to the main room, the coffee machine was thankfully intact and the futon was not unfolded.  It was also missing the fuzzy bundle topped with ruffled blonde hair. 

 

Hot breath in his ear was the only warning he had before he was flipped over Bond’s hip and dumped without ceremony to the floor face first. The breath was knocked out of him and Bond’s legs tightened round his arm, locking him into place as he followed the movement to pin his prey. Q tried an experimental wiggle, but it was clear that the only way to escape was to dislocate his arm or at Bond’s pleasure. 

 

“Fuck sake, Q, don’t  _ startle _ him, I said!”

 

“Startle  _ him _ !?” 

 

Bond chuffed at Q’s yelp, leaning forward to examine his prize. It seemed that Q may have passed the muster as he retained ownership of his arm instead of having it removed. It was uncomfortable to crane his neck to see his captor, but just about possible. With the low light from the main room trickling in, details were obscured but Bond looked like a Roman statue, all curves and planes, a tribute to hours of blood, sweat and tears to produce a stunning image.  The light highlighted the curves of his shoulders, the bunched muscles of his upper arms that flowed as Bond reached out and ran his fingers through Q’s hair.  It felt good, right until Bond gave a tug.

 

This seemed to be the only warning Bond would give, as he twisted, flexed his legs like a dancer and rolled sideways to the centre of the small room.  He landed in a crouch, weight mainly on one foot with the other stretched behind him for balance, fingers splayed out to lightly brush the ground.  The light highlighted his chest, shadows defining his abs before they sunk into the buttery soft denim. Q’s mouth went dry, which was a pity because all he could think about was licking his way down that centre groove, maybe try soothe away the tension by tracing the lines around the six pack with his tongue.  Bond tipped his head to the side, revealing the long line of muscle from his ear to his collarbone and Q scrambled up.

 

Even as Q put his weight to move forward, Bond was moving counter.  Q took a step forward, Bond took one back.  Q reached left, Bond wove right.  It felt like PE class all over again, and Q had never been good on the sports field. 

 

“What is this, step dancing? Britain's Got Talent’s reject pile could do better,” 006 called in from his guardian spot in the main room. 

 

“Agent Trevelyan, I don’t think I really need the running commentary, thank you. Simon Cowell you are not.”

 

“Well, it’s either commentary or a picture book with details on how to insert tab A into slot B. And call me Alec, given how much of an ear full I’m going to get later.”

 

“Not helpful, Alec, really,” said Q, slightly turning to face the door, “Ow! You bastard! You bit me!”

 

Q whipped his hand to cover his ear, staring at Bond as the other man  darted back out of arm's reach.  The last of his dignity crumbled and fell away as Alec merrily laughed out of sight and Bond gave him a massive, smug and self satisfied grin as he came to rest back on the other side of the room.  Damned man moved like a greased up eel when he chose.  Q had also never realised that Bond could giggle.  So. He was facing a highly trained and half naked agent, but one that wasn’t working at full operating systems. Full on fight, Bond would still win but that only ruled out some options.  Giving a yip, Q dropped down and clutched at his ankle, hissing and curling slightly over his knees. 

 

“What the hell are you doing, Q, how can you injure yourself before James manages it?” griped Alec from somewhere much nearer the door and getting closer, “Seriously, do you need assistance?”

 

More importantly, Bond moved closer.  Worry was clear on his face, displayed in a way he would never allow Q see in a normal day. Q waited until he was reaching out before he struck, wrapping himself around Bond like a limpet. The man immediately tried to roll to shake him off, managing to get one arm free and trying to shove his palm against Q’s ribs to pry him away.  Q retaliated in the only way he knew how.

 

He leaned forward and blew the hardest raspberry he could against the closest patch of Bond’s skin.

 

Bond flopped backwards onto the floor, leaving his belly exposed to Q to take further advantage of.  It was easy to nip lightly at the bottom of Bond’s ribcage before tracing the grooved skin in the centre lightly down to his belly button...for another raspberry.  Q had never claimed to be a sophisticated lover, but his partners never had complaints.  Bond arched up, trying to hold onto his laughter but failing horribly.  His feet curled, looking vulnerable beneath the denim, one little toe distorted from the rest. He even tucked his hands below his arms to try avoid being tickled there. 

 

“Should have brought a How To For Dummies… fuck sake, even finger puppets would be useful,” Alec’s voice seemed to be further away, closer to the main room entrance instead of the nook’s doorway.  

 

Ignoring him seemed to be the way to proceed, so Q did just that.  Instead, he kneeled back beside Bond’s hip and looked his fill, leaving one hand on the man’s belly.  Q didn’t think he’d ever seen the agent look relaxed, let alone abandoned to laughter the way he was. It was a lovely sight, even better than the marble impression from earlier.  Taking a chance, Q ran his palm down further, pressure gentle but firm until he got to the top of Bond’s jeans.  Absently, he hushed his omega as he slipped his thumb behind the button and popped it open. He used his other hand to balance and leaned forward to claim a kiss. 

 

The moment held for an elastic second until Bond seized control again, licking up into Q’s mouth like it was a lifeline. Q barely tipped his head to the left enough to avoid their noses smashing together, and wondered for a mad second why Bond took so much care with his body but didn’t seem to mind slightly chapped lips. The thought died as Bond’s hand cradled the back of his head and directed him closer, the rough feeling of Bond’s tongue in his mouth rich and warm.  Q gave up on trying to unzip the frustrating jeans, instead gripping Bond’s hip to keep from falling head first into the kiss as he knelt awkwardly.  Or a concussion, also a possibility if he tipped over.  Bond was busy using his free hand to try work his way under Q’s shirts with greedy and clawed fingers, eager for warm skin. 

 

Q pulled back with an effort and  landed inelegantly on his arse, tugging at his own buttons, pulling the tattered remains of his civilised self together. No, not like this, not a rush of heat on the floor, he wanted more. He also wanted to be anything but the nearest willing body. It was his choice but it also needed to be Bond’s. No, if they were doing this, James. And of course, James would whine at the loss of contact and all Q would want to do is soothe that whimper away. 

 

Q gave up on the buttons and hauled his shirt and t-shirt over his head to fling away from him.  He rose up to stalk over to the futon, reclaiming the blanket that he’d left here after realising he was spending more time than was healthy in the sleeping nook and fluffed it beside him. He took the centre of the seat and looked at James, who was lounging like the original invitation to sin before him. 

 

“James, please. If you want this, you know I’ll do this with you. If you don’t, Alec will get you whomever you want, or knock you out for Medical to sort you. But, I’m not going to force you.  You understand, don’t you?”

  
For a moment, or maybe it was a decade, James looked at him. Blue eyes were washed to silver in the low light, leaving the rest of him a vision carved of shadow and light all Q could do was wait.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's a good place to end a chapter, right? Because p0rn!cliffies are totally a thing, yes? 
> 
> Q's down to half naked and waiting on James, and he'd be happy to know the next chapter will be up soon


	12. Q

James stood up, giving his hips a shimmy that caused the unbuttoned jeans to slide downwards with the speed of a glacier.  Q’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he took in his first sight of a gloriously nude James. 

 

“Q. Want this. Want you. Not under, want to move. Safer.” James shook his head with frustration as he stepped out of the pooled material, weight shifting as he stepped forward and throwing shadows in a beautiful erotic abstract. 

 

Nothing on earth could stop Q from leaning forward to bury his face in the velvet skin of James’ belly.  From there, it was easy to slide his chin down, past the rough hairs and along the soft skin to take James’ cock into his mouth and run his tongue around the head.  James let out a breath as if he’d been hit and Q ran his knuckles up the inside of his thighs to make the man spread his legs wider.  The warm scent cocooned him, like the most delectable cologne ever.  As he slowly dipped his head forward to try get a feel for the heavy mouthful, he ran his thumbs along the crease of skin between torso and legs, noting the damp of slick that was between his agent’s legs. James let his hands rest on Q’s head, no extra pressure to take more or faster than he could manage but enough to remind of how he’d dominated the earlier kiss. 

 

Q slid forward, tipping his head to allow more of James’ cock to go deeper into his mouth and using his tongue to push the head towards the rough palate of his mouth. One hand wrapped around the base to stop any accidental choking and the other slipped behind the heavy balls to run a steady finger along the soft skin there.  Tempting as gently rolling the heavy sacs between his fingers was, Q decided that not risking a trigger was more important, and his omega had been through too many things that might leave unpleasant associations. Best keep this time simple.  Also, he still had his hands wrapped around Q’s head, and given his training he may crack a neck before realising he could ask questions. 

 

“Q, always thinking too much. Something on your mind?”

 

Never mind Q thinking, James shouldn’t be able to make sense, so Q retaliated by taking as much as he could and swallowing. He could feel his throat fluttering around the tip of James’ prick and only the firm grip on the base stopped the inadvertent jerk forward.  That was better, and let Q nudge his thumb into James right up to the first joint.  He let it pause for a moment before slowly sliding it back out and he savoured the whimper that James let out. Tipping his head slightly, Q could look up the stretch of rippling muscles to James’ face.  

 

Indecision was clear on the agent's expression, thrust forward into the wet heat or sink back and be filled? Q couldn’t remember ever seeing James look so discombobulated and he chortled slightly. The laughter that bubbled up was appreciated, if the way that James curled forward and pulled in deep rasping breaths was any indication. 

 

“James, I know you’re in heat, but are you sure you want me?”

 

“Not in heat,” the agent gritted out.

 

Watching James pull together his words was hard. Q was used to the man being able to produce a quip suitable for every occasion.  The man couldn’t resist the worst timed puns and adored to understate with one liners, so to see him with one of his defences so lowered was humbling.  Q didn’t think he’d ever see the day that James was so wordless, but he could get used to it.  

 

“Just intoxicated by you.” 

 

No, wait, he could indeed get a bad line out if needed. 

 

James pulled back, staggering slightly before he knelt between Q’s knees. Large hands pulled at the offending cords that still clung to Q’s hips.  Any attempts that he made to help James only brought a growl. It was enough to have Q pull his hands up in the traditional unarmed gesture. Every instinct he had pushed him to show his omega how he could protect him, comfort him, ease his way. Unfortunately, those instincts were not the most accurate when it came to an omega like James, one who could protect himself, had made a profession out of eschewing comfort, who could choose how smooth or rough his own path was. What James needed was to be trusted - too many times he’d had his own instincts and needs disregarded.  Q grabbed the couch with force enough to make his knuckles white, intent on letting James have all the control he needed. 

 

The gesture was not lost on James, even heat addled as he was. A smile of approval warmed Q, right up until it became mischievous.  James ran his hands down Q’s calfs, smoothing the material until he came to bony ankles. A few quick tugs and James was holding slim feet and shoes and socks were abandoned. Leaning his chin on one of Q’s knees, James’ smile became downright malicious as he sat back onto his heels.

 

“Remind me of my little toe,” James panted out, words treacle slow, “Cute. And, gonna bang it on the furniture.”   
  


“Ah, no, no, that not fair!” 

Q’s voice rose several registrars as James set about brushing the soles of his feet with feather light touches, not sure if he was protesting the bad lines or the tickling. Never enough pressure to restrain, more than enough to have Q wiggling. Through it all, Q never let go of the death grip he had on the cushions, pleasing James who gave up on his torture with one last tickle.  James bit playfully at the knee below his chin before moving up to unbutton the cords and carefully unzipping. The relief from the pressure was bittersweet bliss, as Q still refused to move unless James was encouraging it.  He tipped his head back, swallowing against his dry throat as he waited for the next move.  Finally, James tugged at the material, encouraging him to raise his hips to pull the pants and trousers down, off and away. 

 

If Q had thought that would improve his lot, he was mistaken. James seemed to develop a fascination with the skin on the inside of Q’s legs.  He nipped and licked gently, tracing the long muscles that shivered under the attention.  Time slowed, each gasp of air Q took seemed to take a decade, every swipe of James’ tongue lasting an eternity of sensation that ran up his legs to pool as heat in his belly. Slowly, as if everything depended on James mapping each centimetre of skin, he moved closer.  Q could feel the hot breath closer to his cock, and he whimpered.  Instinct demanded that he fuck up into something  _ now _ , and only bitter determination kept his hands in place.

 

Finally, after an eternity of exploration James was satisfied.  He rolled upwards, all flexing muscles and grace distilled as he came to rest with one knee on each side of Q’s hips. Their faces were close, warm breath ghosting over Q’s lips.  James supported his weight with one arm on the back of the futon, the other twisted behind. It took Q too long to realise that James was opening himself further and the thought was nearly too much as the rich scent of slick filled the air. He tipped his head back as his hips twitched forward. James, the bastard, just rested his forehead on Q’s shoulder and chuckled deep in his chest.  Moving as fast as a lava flow, he pushed himself onto Q’s prick, heat and slick and perfect torture that paused as James adapted to the intrusion.

 

“You’re being good, so good,” James purred in Q’s ear, “but, don’t you think it’s time to be a bit more hands on?”

 

There was nothing else Q could do but let go of his self inflicted shackle and grab James’ hips with desperate hands. He moaned as he was able to fuck his own hips up, using his shoulders and feet to put as much power as he could behind the thrusts.  Knocked off rhythm, James grasped at Q’s shoulders to steady himself. Each snap of hips into the tight heat knocked a breathy moan from his throat, control willingly handed over. Q admired the sight of the man above him, loosening his grip only so he could reach up to tweak at James’ neglected chest, to tug lightly at his pebbling nipples before sliding down his flank. Finally, they fell into step, rolling their hips in counterpoint.  

 

“Do you want me to knot you? James, please, do you want me?”

 

Q didn't think he could bear it if he was refused, but he had to ask. Glassy eyed with sensation, James slowed down his pace, pulling them back from the final rush. Q could feel him fight to think above the rush of hormones and heat and fancied that he could see the moment that James made a decision.  The look on his face may have been similar to one that heralded mass explosions and insane running firefights, and James grinned fiercely down at Q.

 

“Yes, I believe I do. Any time now, Quartermaster, put your back into it.”

 

“I’ll give you ‘put your back into it’,” Q bickered back, thrilled to see his infuriating omega peaking from behind the biological drives. “You just try keep up, old man.”

 

With that he ground up, kicking their rhythm back into a frantic push to reach harder, faster.  Q could feel his knot beginning to swell and catch at the sensitive rim that gripped him so tight. One hand gripped tight to James’ hip, leaving bruises that didn’t matter, couldn’t matter as long as the other could guide James down for another filthy kiss.  It was all teeth and tongue and need that seemed to capture every bit of banter and challenge they had played out before this. James was busy trying to grope any reachable part of Q with greedy fingers. Q could feel the building heat in his belly, and pried his hand from James’ hip to grasp his neglected cock. He spread the dribbling pre come over the head, making up for lost time before beginning to pump.  

 

They were close, too close for finesse, so Q just tightened his grip until James was panting into his mouth and then added in a twist. He could feel James’ orgasm begin to take him when his kisses lost any claim at technique, becoming sloppy and loose and much easier for Q to take over the kiss. The fluttering of muscles around his cock intensified and Q was gone, knot locking in place, reflexively breaking the kiss to bite into James’ neck as his hips ground as far into James as he could and the moment of shocking perfection swept him away.

 

Q was nearly surprised when he came back to himself, loose and languid after coming as hard as he ever had in his life. It was real, not a fragment of a wonderfully erotic dream.  He could tell by the way his thighs were beginning to go dead under James’ weight, the pull of muscles that were unused to such activity.  He ran a hand down James’ back - his omega’s back, and that was not a thought he’d have when he woke up this morning. James snuffled closer, sleeping peacefully despite being still tied by Q’s knot, covered with drying come and curled up like a pretzel. 

 

Bloody 00’s and their ability to sleep whenever and wherever they could.

 

Frowning, Q splayed his hand between James’ shoulder blades. His skin was cooling quickly, a light sheen of sweat giving the potential for a chill in the underground room.  Q blindly reached for the abandoned blanket, successful on his second attempt.  Carefully he wrapped it around James’ shoulders before slowly lowering them down to their sides. Still tied, this was much more difficult in practice than theory.  Carefully, pulled at James’ leg to keep it curled between him and the futon and pushed the other to allow it to drape over the edge.  At least he’d save one knee from complaining at the agent. Also, it was a wonder that James didn’t over heat by just walking from one place to another, the man was putting out more heat than the radiator in Q’s first flat.

 

It took a fair bit of maneuvering, but finally Q lay with his back on the futon covered by a sated James and all without painfully tugging at the knot. He tucked the fuzzy blanket in around them and lay in the semi darkness and carded his hands through James’ hair as he waited for the next wave of heat and processed the last few hours.  His fingers gradually found the outline of an ear and he traced the gentle curves along the top, over the curl and into the delicate dips before leading to the top of his jaw.  Q smiled to himself as he felt how James’ ear stuck out slightly. It may not have been the first word to hop to mind when one thought of the deadly 007, but Q thought it was cute.  The pads of his fingers ran down the thick muscles of his omega’s neck until he was able to settle his palm over the bite mark.  Q frowned slightly, wondering if it was unusually warm or within reason for a minor wound.

 

“Ahem.”

 

Q’s eyes snapped open and the rest of him reflexively froze in horror.  

 

“Well. I’ve never seen such an arse first courtship, but points for secondary school techniques. A raspberry, Q?”

 

Q clutched at James’ shoulders as if that would allow him to hide. How had he forgotten Alec? It was horrifically mortifying and more disturbingly, slightly reassuring. James obviously thought so, as he roused enough to look at Alec’s amused face before mushing his nose back into Q’s neck with a slurred grumble. 

 

“Oh, my god, what did I do to deserve this,” moaned Q, “Really, I’d like to know. Is he snoring?”

 

“Something spectacular. If it was good or bad could be up for debate.” Alec offered Q water from a bottle with a straw.  Q slurped happily and refused to let himself wonder where either had come from. “And he usually doesn’t snore unless he feels safe. Then he sounds like a congested kitten.  So. Best keep that up, shall we?”

 

Q shivered at the ice in Agent Trevelyan’s eyes as he gazed down at the pair on the futon. That was a remarkably pleasant shovel speech, but definitely a shovel speech. Q focused on not choking on the cold water and looking as innocent as he could. Alec nodded and took the bottle away to set it down within arms reach. He flopped on the floor, back leaning against the futon and watching the door. Q went back to contemplating the ceiling, because, really, what does one say to one’s brand new beta? This had not been on his daily planner.  James and Alec were unlikely to expect them all to move in together despite what tradition would dictate, surely? Q had a lot to think about. Absently, he started carding James’ hair again and warm darkness wrapped around him and he slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that justifies upping the tag from mature?


	13. Tanner

Tanner poured a glass of scotch and set it in front of M, who leant further back into the comforting leather of his chair. Despite keeping his hands determinately and demurely in front, he managed to give the impression of rubbing at his temples with stress. 

 

“On the bright side, we’ve at least confirmed some of the weak spots. And perhaps, found some options for future scenarios?” Tanner stepped back to a proper distance, “We do have rather a lot of data from this go round.”

 

M’s glare could possibly shatter the tumbler in front of him.

 

“Not to mention the way that Q branch’s second tier have really stepped up in the disruption of the chain of command. And Accounting have sent on some PowerPoints. Medical are also highlighting the fact that they need to have a refresher as to what does and doesn’t count as private medical information. And, Maintenance have advised that they’re going to draw the line at the staff break room in sub level 2 for the foreseeable future. Could be worse.” 

 

M’s expression clearly stated that no, no, he did not feel that it ‘could be worse’. 

 

“Just think,” continued Tanner with the blithe confidence of one who had weathered Olivia Mansfield at her worst, “It was Moneypenny who caught the CCTV footage and disrupted recordings. There’s nothing in the official recordings for review. Though I dare say she’ll have a brisk business soon enough.”

 

Tanner didn’t get many pleasures as M’s Chief of Staff, but watching M as his face pulled into an odd blend of curiosity and horror was among the top ten. Maybe even top five.  Honestly, it served the man right for not being aware of MI6’s thriving black market that ran on gossip, blackmail and occasionally CCTV stills to commemorate the idiocy that inevitably occurred when enough overtrained and under occupied individuals gathered. 

 

“Well. Looks like Agent Grant’s squad will do the final sweep and we’ll call it a day then?”

 

With a pause that could be argued as ‘waiting for further orders’ at a push, Tanner was through the door and into Moneypenny’s realm.  Speaking of the devil, she was back at her desk excluding the innocence that agents had peeled off them half way through their basic training. Tanner dipped his chin, an acknowledgement of one professional to another. In return, she handed over yet another slim file and a smile.

 

“An analysis of the mid way transcripts. Most… enlightening reading. I’ll have the final copies once the drill is complete.”

 

Thanking her, Tanner left to supervise the rag end of this drill.  He resolutely did not ask about the personal folders on her desk, nor about her satisfied smile. He kept to himself the suggestion to back up any, shall he say, files of interest on an isolated system not linked to MI6 in any way.  Just for purely scientific reasons, of course.  A test of Q’s skills, perhaps.  Tanner strode to his own office with the satisfaction of a man who has booked a weeks holiday due to start in the morning and had the foresight to strong-arm a written guarantee from his boss that he would be only recalled in the event of a national emergency.  

 

Life was good. 


	14. Grant

Agent Grant swore under his breath.  This drill had been nothing but trouble since the beginning, from midway changes in scenario that the suits didn’t feel the need to communicate, ever so helpful accountants attempting to ‘assist’ by getting underfoot, techs being as sullen as possible and one of his lads had caught wind of the possibility of a batch of 00 wankers muddying the waters. He didn’t get paid nearly enough for this carry on. 

 

The only things this cluster fuck had going for it was a) it was one last area to clear b) he could hand off the report writing to his second. His point man waved an all clear and the team moved down the stairs in a movement that was as smooth as it was well rehearsed. His lads may not be half feral, licenced psychopaths that MI6 turned a blind eye to, but they were damn good at their jobs and Grant was proud of them. Except when the pillock in front stopped unexpectedly. the rest of the team flowed out and around into preset positions to give them the best view of an abandoned break room. 

 

It was only when Grant moved closer that he could catch the scent that had pulled his point man to a halt. The room smelt like a whorehouse on a Sunday morning, right down to rich musk and freshly brewed coffee. What the hell did these techs have to look so sullen over, if they got to ‘relax’ in a place like this? 

 

“It’s like this,” said the beta who lounged against the doorway on the other side of the room, “you can take my word as a fellow agent in Her Majesty’s service that the room is cleared and move on.  That’s the easy way.”

 

There was a pregnant pause.

  
“You’d prefer the easy way.”

 

Grant weighed his options.  Yes, he was supposed to have his team clear the floor. The ‘hard way’ was unspoken, but he had no intention of exploring it.  Not with the lizard like smile on that beta’s face.  Especially not if it meant that the alpha who was hovering just behind the beta would be the one explaining.  The blonde bastard - and, oh, god, was he naked - looked like a motivated brick, and Grant made the executive decision to not break his lads’ faces on it. He waived his team around to the far exit and they continued on.

 

“Good choice,” said the beta.

 

More than ever, Grant was convinced that those 00’s were only picked because they were the most obnoxious pricks around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the interval chapters, once the boys have breathing room, it'll be back to the regular!


	15. Alec

The chill on his chest woke Q.  He blinked awake and straightened his glasses from where they had begun to slide on his nose. 

 

“James? What? Alec, is something the matter?”

 

Alec looked over from the doorway.

 

“No, just giving directions,” Alec said as if that made a lick of sense. “James, you stubborn goat!”

 

James had taken advantage of Alec’s distraction to lean against him and hug. He rubbed his chin over the jumper clad shoulder and squirmed. Q felt  a beautiful sense of sangfroid, if he was going to be covered in their omega’s scent Alec was not getting away with avoiding it.  He also had a strong sense that James was not nearly as heat addled as he was acting. Bloody 00’s.  Alec was twisting away, all for show as all three knew how much damage the two could do if it was real. Q snickered quietly at the puppy like shoving match that was going on in front of him.

 

“I’m taking the whole ’66 Benriach Glenlivet and you’re paying for a new jumper and jeans, I’m burning these,” Alec said as he finally managed to push James back towards the futon.

 

It was the liquid quality of James’ walk that had Q pushing up onto his elbows.  James’ heat was flaring again, his expression hungry as he looked down at the alpha in his bed.  Q could feel the smirk on his own face just before James tried to kiss it right off. He wasn’t sure who moaned, but god he was glad there were no clothes to separate them as he pulled James down to lay on him, running his hands along the dip of his spine.  He traced the dimples at the top of James’ arse before grabbing it to pull closer.  James grunted as Q began to run his fingertips around the rim of his arsehole, and moaned into Q’s mouth once he dipped his thumb past the ring of muscle. Q was lost to anything but the feel of skin, bunching muscles and heat. 

 

“I’m taking the coffee,” Alec announced to the air, “Not that you give a damn, but I’m taking the good biscuits too.”

 

He left the nook for the main break room, picked up the nicest looking chair, righted it and sat with his legs outstretched, coffee in one hand, biscuits balanced on the chair’s arm and snagged one of the magazines with the other hand.  It may not have been quite up to the physical comforts of James’ apartment, but the scent of home in the air and promise of more to come quite made up for it.  It was a good thing that neither his omega or their new alpha were screamers, but they were being noisy enough. Once they relocated to safer territory, maybe he’d see if they could up the ante a bit. If James didn’t have a fit of emotion.  Perhaps he would let the man have some of the ’66 Benriach Glenlivet to steady his nerves.  

 

Then again, maybe not. 


	16. Q

It was nearly an hour since the official all clear had sounded.  Most of the building had emptied of people, with only the basic staff being left to handle the long weekend so the path to the exit was nearly clear. Alec had decreed that they needed to move location which was seconded by Q’s twinging back.  James hadn’t indicated one way or the other, back to being languid and placid. Somehow, Q didn’t suspect that it would last until the next equipment pick up, but it was nice to imagine.

 

Alec was in the lead, smooth swagger and smirk in place.  James drifted like a shadow behind, back to his humming. Q tried to ignore the relaxed slope of James’ shoulders under his turtle-neck and the moulded fit of the jeans over his arse and thighs and to concentrate on his mobile for updates. Luckily, his legion of techs were well able to understand badly written swipe assisted instructions, even if this was the first time they’d been sent by a sex-addled Q. He had to admit, it was maybe worse spelling than an exhaustion-addled Q, but he really needed to organise cover and hand off his duties for the next few days.

 

Q suspected that once he and James had clearer heads, they would be having a conversation that would make their first meeting in front of the Fighting Temeraire look like a polite chit-chat.  At least, in James’ flat there was little to break.  Hopefully, Alec would be the voice of reason.

 

The fact that he had thought that was probably one of the first signs of the end times.

 

The phone in his hand shuddered with an incoming message from Moneypenny.  It was a chirpy update of ongoing projects but buried in the text was the suggestion that she had been updating files and that he had nothing to worry about. That was not even funny, Q hadn’t even considered the records that he’d need to edit, nudge and outright forge to keep this out of an internal affairs investigation.  More, keep James out of oversight committees cross hairs. Why did any phrase that involved “don’t worry but” do nothing but inspire stress?  Looking further, it appeared that Moneypenny was several steps ahead of him and most of the loose ends caused by James’ designation were tidily dealt with. 

 

Q was no fool; he knew that Moneypenny was the dangerous one, followed closely by Tanner. Maybe M would catch up to their level someday but not quite yet, so in the meantime, he would have to see what he could arrange for Moneypenny in return. Perhaps, a communication shut down while she had some time with her Conor and Brian.  

 

The haphazard cavalcade of agents and quartermaster was nearly at the exit when there was a polite call from the corner.  Q winced at the sound of Tanner’s voice because he knew that M would follow within seconds.  He eyed the security doors and their promise of escape forlornly as he suspected that the next few minutes would not be fun.  Sure enough, as he turned his eyes back to Tanner, M had appeared to glare at the trio. 

“M, Tanner,” Q greeted politely, silently pleading for them to ignore the two elephants in the room as James and Alec glided closer, “Final reports will be on your desks immediately.  On Monday.  From R. Um. Tanner!  Hope you don’t stay too late.  Didn’t you say Alice would never forgive you if you missed this week.  Florence, wasn’t it?”

 

That was bad, Tanner the bastard just smiled a smug smile down at him.  M in contrast looked as though he had bitten a rancid lemon but had decided to make lemonade. Q did not like that expression.  He felt as if he was being eyed up by a hungry snake who was contemplating if it was large enough to swallow him whole. 

 

In a display of non-verbal passive aggressive body language, Alec drifted closer before leaning against the wall.  Perfectly positioning himself between his alpha, his omega and the possible threat, the beta looked like a coiled mongoose. Tanner’s smug look dimmed slightly.  James ghosted around the edge of the corridor, fingertips running along the wall as he hummed to himself.  

 

As his omega seemed to be in a lull in his heat, Q could split his focus between Alec and M. Hopefully, he would be able to negotiate a peaceful path and get them out of the building before anything else could go wrong.  Q braced his shoulders, loosened his knees and straightened his spine.  M speared them with a flat look, reminding Q again of a snake that was biding it’s time.

 

“Quartermaster, given the success of today’s training scenario, please feel free to leave early. I will await the report with baited breath.” 

 

Q narrowed his eyes at the icily polite tone. Frankly, two of them could play at this game. 

 

“I’m sure R has it well in hand. Now, as James, Alec and myself are availing of mandatory heat leave, I appreciate your concern with your employee’s welfare. Quite heartwarming.  Though perhaps Q branch can approach our absence as a lengthy training scenario, which would link in nicely with your department strategies.”

 

James’ wandering took him close to Tanner.  The man grinned as James drifted close enough for a friendly shoulder bump, unconcerned with the frosty and pseudo-polite posturing surrounding him.  Q refused to let his eyes drop away from M’s as they wordlessly vied for control of the conversation.  

 

“I do appreciate your willingness to take projects home, Quartermaster, I…”

 

M broke off and Q would treasure the look of horrified startlement as M realised that James had gotten close enough to wrap him in a koala hug.  James took a deep breath and snorted slightly, probably blowing an uncomfortable warm breath of air down the back of M’s neck before moving away.  Alec, ever willing to back up James’ wilder exploits smiled like a hunting mongoose and directed James closer to Q and the exit. 

 

“Well, that was… Better getting on! Evening all!”

 

Taking advantage of M’s shock, Q nodded to Tanner and tried to hustle his two agents towards the door.  Tanner proved his worth yet again by not bursting into laughter.  M watched the retreating trio, but couldn’t resist the last word. 

 

“Well. Agent Bond, perhaps we can consider your participation in further training scenarios over the next few months. Parental leave permitting, of course.”

 

With that bomb dropped, M slithered away, like a serpent that has decided that dinner was still too mobile and defensive to bother with but was willing to wait for another day. 

 

A grinning Alec grabbed James by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away through the doors before he had a chance to react beyond startled blankness.  Oh, yes, he had been right, Q thought numbly, the next few days were going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that’s a wrap! This fic has been a huge learning curve for me, and the first multi-chapter thing that I’ve finished in a long time. It was supposed to be a quick A/B/O PWP but it somehow sprouted legs, much to my surprise. Madder_rose has been a star with all the help she's given - this would be a collection of semi-coherent capslock notes if not for her help. I’ve also been staggered by all the wonderful comments and kudos people have left and I’m really grateful for them. 
> 
> I do have an idea (or several, thanks to the insightful comments and resulting horde of plot-bunnies) for a sequel but to be honest, I’m not sure how soon that will be up as RL has kicked in with a vengeance at the moment. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the story and I hope to see you again.


End file.
